Memories
by theresa.p
Summary: Haytham Kenway was a man full of professionalism and practicality. He did not have time to waste, lounging about in the streets of Bostons like any other drunkard. But what happens when this strict and seemingly "perfect" man recalls memories? Memories that strike hard within his cold heart?


**_28 June 1776_**

Haytham Kenway never believed himself to be the "villain"… in his eyes the world was never just black and white, there was always a grey area. He also never believed that he would be in this position: sitting at a table in the Green Dragon Tavern with a large tankard of ale in his right hand. So far in the past two or three hours he had downed five mugs of the bitter beverage, and along with that, contemplated life.

 _How_ , he thought to himself, as he let the booze get to his head. _I thought we got them all._ _I thought that they were all dead._ He clearly remembered it himself. At the end of the 7 Years' War, nearly all of the Assassins had been eradicated from the American colonies. Haytham recalled how he ordered the siege on the Davenport Homestead, killing any remaining Assassins living there with Achilles Davenport, the mentor. But he was wrong. Especially with what he witnessed just a few hours ago.

Haytham let out an exhausted groan and nearly fell off his chair.

"Pfft," he scoffed at himself and shook his head. Haytham Kenway, Grandmaster of the Colonial Rite of the Knights Templars, piss drunk with a pounding headache, barely able to stand up straight. That was quite a sight to behold. He left several coins on the wooden table and staggered to his room. After yanking off both boots carelessly, undoing his coat, and taking off his navy tricorn, he collapsed on the mattress. Normally Haytham would've noticed the rough, rugged texture of the bed, but he was much too drunk to care at the moment. He drifted off to a long sleep.

* * *

 _ **The Next Day**_

"Ughh… What?" Haytham murmured as he sat up. He rubbed his temples. _Great, now I have a bloody hangover because of all the drinking yesterday._

"What have I done?" he said in his crisp English accent. Haytham managed to exit the room and tread down the stairs carefully without tumbling down. He paid the barmaid a couple coins for a mug of fresh water, in which he brought to his room. Once he reached his room, he sat on the wooden chair and slowly drank the water. Haytham closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, relishing the taste of the water. It felt nice and soothing, especially after yesterday's drinking. After ten minutes of sitting down, he started to think. Haytham usually never had time for this. He believed that people should use time wisely, not just laze around and contemplate random things.

Haytham started to recall his relationship with Ziio. He missed her. But he didn't know if she missed him. After learning about Ziio's death in 1760, Haytham regretted things. He regretted not telling her that Braddock was still alive after the attack. He regretted not spending enough time with her. Most of all, he regretted ever meeting her. Not in a bad way, per se. If Haytham had never attacked and took over the convoy, he would never have seen Ziio, never talk to her, nor know of her existence. He wouldn't ever be feeling all this regret and grief. Haytham now knew what heartbreak felt like. It felt like literally being stabbed in the heart. It felt like ice. It felt like he was alone and that no one understood him.

* * *

 _God she was beautiful. I've never seen a woman as gorgeous as her. All the ladies back in London wore powdered wigs and stuffed their dresses to show off their bosoms. But not her. She shows natural beauty through her own unique ways. I cleared my throat and tried to talk to her._

" _We're here to help you- along with those held inside Southgate Fort."_

 _The only thing the Mohawk woman said was, "Free me."_

 _I answered, "Not until we're inside the gate. I can't chance an inspection at the gate going wrong. I'll see you free. You have my word."_

 _She turned her head away and blinked several times, sighing as well. She didn't trust me. I didn't blame her. If I were her, I wouldn't trust myself, either. When we entered Southgate Fort, I turned to her and cut the bindings around her wrists with my hidden blade._

" _See. I'm freeing you just as I said I would. Now if you'll allow me to explain-" before I could finish my sentence, she jumped from the cart and ran._

 _I looked at her in the distance, "Let her go," I told my men._

" _But she'll give us away," Thomas Hickey, one of my associates, said._

" _She won't."_

" _-her eyes still watch over us. Her ears still hear our words. Her hands still guide us. And her love still gives us strength."_

" _You've shown me great kindness, Ziio. Thank you."_

" _I should go…"_

* * *

Haytham felt a weird sensation in his eyes and all of a sudden found it difficult to breathe. He tried inhaling through his nose but ended up sniffling. There was a wet feeling in his eyes. _Am I crying?_ Haytham dragged one large palm over his face and there it was, the tears. He slowly shook his head and placed it in both hands. _Why must the memories haunt me now?_

More memories resurfaced. Now, Haytham played in his mind what had happened the day before. On the 28th of June in 1776. Thomas Hickey was supposed to kill General George Washington, but more importantly, Connor, Haytham's son, was sentenced to the gallows. Haytham was there. He wasn't blind. He saw Connor conversing with Achilles immediately before the hanging. He also saw that there was a young Assassin Recruit hiding on the rooftop of a general store nearby.

After Charles announced his speech and finished off with the phrase, "May God have mercy on your soul," the planks under his Connor's feet finally let away. Haytham saw the Recruit shoot an arrow, damaging the rope. Looking more closely, he saw that the rope didn't fully rip. _Connor was going to die._ Connor was going to die if he didn't do anything. Without even thinking, Haytham pushed past the crowd and hurled a throwing knife, successfully severing the rope. In doing so, he sacrificed one thing for another. While Connor lived, Hickey had not. And so went the plan to assassinate Washington.

More tears rolled down Haytham's cheeks. Although Connor was an Assassin, and he a Templar Grandmaster, Haytham knew one thing was for certain: he loved his son. Connor was his and Ziio's creation. After kissing in the cave, both he and Ziio divulged in something much more, which ultimately led to the conception of Connor. Haytham never even knew about Connor's existence until many years later.

As more thoughts of Connor and Ziio came to Haytham, another looming memory was prying at him. Shay. Shay Patrick Cormac. Reminiscences of his and Shay's relationship flooded back at him. Haytham took Shay under his wing when he was just a young man, when he left the Brotherhood to join the Order. At the time, Colonel George Monro had displayed and sweet-talked Shay's potential and benefits to the Templar Order. Eventually, Haytham got to know Cormac more and more. Oddly enough, though, the two of them never thought that they would end up having a relationship.

* * *

 _I looked out in the distance at the Aurora Borealis as we sailed through the North Atlantic. I was aboard Shay's ship, the Morrigan. As he piloted the vessel with ease and elegance, I strolled up to him and clasping a firm hand on his shoulder._

" _Shay, you deserve a rest. Come meet me in the captain's cabin. Gist will take over for the night," I explained._

 _Shay answered, "Are ya sure, sir? I can still perfectly captain this vessel. I'm fine, really."_

" _Yes, I'm sure, and I know that you are well capable of doing that, but I wish to speak to you in private," I insisted._

" _Okay then," the Irishman replied, handing the wheel over to Mr. Gist. We walked down the wooden stairs and entered the cabin._

 _Shay was the first to initiate conversation, "So what is it that ya need, sir?"_

 _I took a deep breath through my nose and then exhaled, "I just wanted to say that I'm proud of you. Of all the men that have worked under me, you were the only one that followed my orders, the only one that took his job seriously, and the only one that did not mess up. I thank you for serving the Order, Shay."_

 _I saw the other man visibly blush a little, I smirked._

 _He cleared his throat and said, "Well, thank you, sir. I-I would never have expected a person of such authority like you would say that to me. If I were to have stayed with the Assassins and complete such a great feat, Achilles would never have said anything like this."_

 _I shot him a genuine smile. Shay was one of the most talented men I have ever seen and worked with. I would say that he would make a great right-hand man, better than Charles. I hummed in answer to Shay's remark. The two of us were standing very close to each other, and I slowly took his hand in mine. Shay glanced at me, a look of surprise and embarrassment on his face. I kept my facial expression calm, which helped the other man relax a little bit. Then, the two of us locked in an embraced. I could feel his beating heart. It was at a steady pace, and his face was cold against me. We let go._

" _Sir?..." he asked in a breathy tone._

 _Was I taking this too far, I asked myself. I've known Shay for a while now, and my emotions are still conflicted._

 _Without a word, we shared a chaste kiss._

* * *

Haytham blinked. He was back in reality. Now he couldn't help it. His head was still in his palms and he decided to let it all out. Haytham Kenway cried. He attempted to muffle the noises by covering his mouth, but that didn't stop the continuous wave of tears escaping his orbs. He took in deep breaths to steady himself. After he kissed Shay that night, they pursued a relationship. It failed. Haytham remembered how he had earlier assigned Shay the task to search for the Precursor box. He told Haytham that it could be anywhere at that point, that it would take years to find. Because Shay was an extremely persistent man, it ruined their partnership. Haytham recalled wanting to spend more time with the Irishman, but he kept insisting that he had to find the box. In the end, he was proud of Shay because he did, in fact, find the box. In 1776 he traveled to Paris, France with Benjamin Franklin and not only took the Precursor artifact, but killed the Master Assassin Charles Dorian.

Haytham Kenway was angry. He was angry at the Assassins. He was angry at losing Ziio and almost letting Connor die. He was angry at his men. He was angry at his unsuccessful relationship with Shay. But most of all, he was angry at himself. He continued to cry.


End file.
